


Speechless

by goddessofvoid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Speechless by Hannah Harrington
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:45:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofvoid/pseuds/goddessofvoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is convinced by Dave to attend Vriska Serket's New Year's party. The situation goes awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work inspired by Speechless by Hannah Harrington. I hope you enjoy. I might be posting a second part, but I'm not sure.

You wonder if this is okay, you doing something like this in a place like this. It had taken an entire week for Dave to convince you to come to Vriska Serket’s New Years party with him and you had still been nervous about going. You weren't ashamed of him, you’d never be ashamed of him, but you were afraid of Vriska and her friends and what she could do to you--or even worse, Dave--if she found out you’re together. Karkat told you that he felt like something bad was going to happen but you waved him off after Dave convinced you with small kisses and sweet promises.  
  
Now here you are, laying underneath him on the bed in the guest room of the head spider-bitch herself with his lips pressed against your collarbone, asking yourself if this is okay and your question is quickly answered by pale, wandering, south-bound hands and the inquiries bubbling up in the back of your throat are popped as soon as they materialize. The hands tell you yes. Yes, this is okay. You can hear the echolalie of the party going on downstairs and feel the bass pounding through the floorboards of your head. Your hands find their way into his white-blonde hair and you hold him against you hungrily, and you feel hints of teeth and tongue against your lips. Kissing him like this is slightly painful because of braces that will come off in a month, your orthodontist says, but you don’t care.  
  
Dave’s fingers grasp for the zipper of your jeans and your heart is beating so loudly in your ears that you don’t hear the door open and or see the light from the hall burst into the room. You didn’t hear the sound of a gasp until it’s too late. Dave has realized this about fifty-nine years before you did though, and you’re stuck looking at the figure in the doorway like a deer in headlights.  
  
Your heart sinks into your shoes when you realize it’s Terezi Pyrope, slightly green-faced, unbalanced, and queasy but it was definitely her. You open your mouth but you don’t know what to say about your incriminating position--you wanted to ask her to not tell anyone, that this wasn't what it looks like, something, anything, but before you can make a sound, she’s bolted out the door. Terezi Pyrope, famous for her inability to keep her mouth shut. Terezi, who you know will out you the second she has an audience.  
  
You look up at Dave desperately, but his face is one of pure calm. “Dave, let’s get out of here. Please.”  
  
His gaze flickers down at you and his hard eyes soften when he sees your worried expression. “Fine. We’ll finish this later, though, I can promise you that.” He presses another kiss to your temple and gets off of you and you button and zip up your jeans. It seems an eternity has passed by the time you get down the stairs, although you know this all happened within the course of a minute or two.  
  
Your fingers wrap around Dave’s wrist, owner of said wrist seems adamant on trailing behind and you’re this close to yanking at his arm. You, instead, lean in close and in a low voice say, “Listen, I really just wanna leave. I don’t like it and I didn’t even want to be here.”  
  
“That’s not what it seemed like upstairs,” is his cocky reply. You frown at him and pull him to and out the door.  
  
Dave’s car has a bad habit of not starting after being turned off for a while so when you drive to the convenience store, you stay in the vehicle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's point of view after John is brought to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did end up writing another chapter! This was again, inspired by Speechless by Hannah Harrington, you should really read the book, it's great.

It’s all my fault, you think to yourself and that’s all you think from the moment you watch John being loaded into an ambulance. You had pleaded and pleaded for you to be let into the vehicle and eventually they did. (You can’t stand to look at your car--there’s a bloody handprint on the outside of the passenger door). You held John’s hand--his hand is so limp, oh god--and called half-sister as the red and white and blue lights flashed over you.

They met you at the hospital, where you were giving the nurses as much information about your boyfriend as possible (“Are you positive this information is correct?” “Of course I am, I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten! He’s my boyfriend!”). When they reach you, your throat closes up and you stare down at your hands--cleaner than your shirt, they made you wash John’s blood off of your hands to prevent infection. 

You hadn’t cried yet. Not until you saw John in the ICU. He is one big bruise and part of his dark hair is shaved off where they stitched his head up and he hasn’t woken up. Jane is sobbing. The nurse, a woman with wide hips and a soft face (you can see little inconspicuous holes in her lower lip and eyebrow that tells she has many piercings and tattoos peek out from underneath the long-sleeved shirt she wore under her scrubs) says he probably won’t for a while. A while, weeks maybe.

You wait in the room while Jane talks to the police. You are not surprised when you are called out into the hallway. You join the adults.

They ask you why John was in the car.

“He offered to stay because my car’s a piece of crap and breaks down for half an hour if you leave it off too long.”

They ask you if you knew if John had any enemies.

“Yes.”

“Who, Dave? Can you tell me?” Jane coaxed.

“Every homophobic piece of sh--”

“Dave.” Jane put a hand on your shoulder and you take a deep breath.

“I don’t know who did it, but I know why.” Your voice suddenly rises. “It was a hate crime! When I find them I’m gonna--” 

“Sir, please calm down.” 

“How can I calm down? That’s my boyfriend in there!” you cry, and you really do. Fat tears leak from your eyes, down your cheeks, dripping off of your chin. These were tears of fury. Whoever “they” are, you hated them so much for hurting John like this. Your John. You had taken off your shades when you called the police and the EMTs and you felt so vulnerable without them. 

You eventually go back to John’s room, pulling the curtain closed tightly behind you. The lights were dimmed and Jane was nodding off and asks you to go buy her an espresso, pushing a ten dollar bill into your palm. You buy her a decaf and let her rest her head on your lap when she falls asleep. You don’t blame her. It had been a long night and the sun rising from your east-facing windows tells you it’s going to be long day.

Karkat arrives in a flurry of curses and dark hair. You hear him before you see him, cursing when he sees John’s swollen face and still body. All of his energy is gone and he is suddenly solemn. He sits next to you on your other side after giving Jane a kiss on the head.

The silence is stifling until he finally asks, “Is he going to be okay?”

“The nurse says he will. I don’t know. He’s so fucking still. It’s killing me.”

“I knew he shouldn’t have gone to that stupid fucking party!” Karkat hissed and your face burned with shame. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble and try glancing at John but you find it’s too painful. You were the one that convinced him to go to the party, you were the one that led him to that bedroom, you were the one that left the door unlocked, hoping that someone would walk in on you and your relationship would no longer be a secret.

“It’s not your fault. It’s their fault,” the dark haired boy said, and you lean into him, your body now shaking uncontrollably with sobs. 

The sun was high in the sky and Karkat had gone home when the police came again. You are sitting with your chair pushed next to John’s bed, holding his hand--the one without the IV-- and rubbing small circles into his palm. You could have sworn you felt his hand move but you knew it was just wishful thinking.

“Excuse me, Miss Crocker?” a man in a police officer’s uniform asked cautiously, peeking into the ICU room.

“She went to get some coffee downstairs,” you reply, not taking your eyes off of John’s hand. “Why are you here? You already questioned everyone.”

“We have news, actually.”

Your head shoots up in surprise. “What? Really?”

He informed you that he can’t tell anyone who wasn’t in John’s immediate family and so you waited for five long minutes. When she does come back, you jump up from your chair and speak before the police officer can. “He was news--”

“Yes, I have news,” he said in a tone that told you to shut up. He went on to tell you that a girl told them who is was that attacked John, some assholes named Eridan Ampora and Gamzee Makara. You seethed and your heart stopped when the police officer mentioned an ice pick. Jane bursted into tears and you wrapped your arms around her, shooshing and rocking her, although you had to leave the room within minutes to retch in a large hospital bathroom, trying to throw up the food you never ate.

By the time you return to the hospital room, Jane is at John’s bedside, talking to him about what the police had said, but her words fell on deaf ears.

You and Jane took turns going home to shower, eat, and change clothes. You get a call from Dessie at the diner and when you tell her what happened, she gives you a week off, although you can hear Silas in the background wondering aloud how the diner is going to manage now that both you and John are out of commission.

 

Days later, you sit in your darkened room, holding the sunglasses John gave you for your thirteenth birthday, way before you started dating or even started working at the diner. There was a small scratch in the corner of the right lens from when some guy punched you in the jaw and knocked them off. 

You wanted the ability to go back in time, to go back to that night and beat the crap out of Eridan and Gamzee, convince John to come with you to the convenience store, or better yet, not go to the party at all.


End file.
